


with a wonder and a wild desire

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Power Play, Scars, Smut, Woman on Top, vague affc spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Jaime has a dirty mouth and Brienne likes it just a bit too much. And it's just the beginning of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with a wonder and a wild desire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the second got_exchange comment fic meme](http://gotexchange-mod.livejournal.com/1067.html?) for [this prompt](http://gotexchange-mod.livejournal.com/1067.html?thread=201003&%20#t201003). Title is from a Flogging Molly song, everything else belongs to GRRM, I don't own a single thing. Also, no hint of plot whatsoever.

1.

He hadn’t exactly planned for it to happen. Hells, it’s not something that he used to do when it was someone else sharing his bed – he never liked to waste time talking when he could be with Cersei.

Later, he’ll blame it on his incapability of keeping his mouth shut and on Brienne’s reluctance to embrace her inner nature and be loud while they’re fucking. It was seeing her attempting not to moan out loud while he slowly thrust inside her, his hips grinding against hers, that prompted him to talk.

“Don’t hide, wench,” he blurts out, his mouth just above her ear.

“I’m not –” she starts, but he won’t have any of it.

“Oh, you are. But you always were – such a bad liar. You like this,” he kept on. “You like my cock inside you, don’t you? I don’t even need you to say it, you’re so wet.”

He kind of expects a punch to the face at that, but he’s surprised himself when instead her pupils blow even more, and her whole cheek flushes even redder as she bites her own tongue.

And she tightens around him.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” he blurts out again, his heart pounding harder, his blood boiling. He isn’t sure that he’ll be able to stop now. “Well, can’t say it doesn’t feel good. You’re so fucking tight. I’d think you were still a maiden, if I didn’t know better.”

He feels rewarded when she stops biting her tongue and a small moan escapes her mouth.

“Jaime –”

“No excuses. And I should feel displeased. Hiding isn’t worth it. Not when I know.”

She _does_ moan out loud when he finds enough balance over his right arm and slips one finger inside her, alongside his cock. She clenches with a loud, deep moan and she’s blushing harder than she ever has in his presence, and Jaime thinks that he won’t be able to last much longer. And she won’t either.

“Always knew that I picked the right name when I started calling you wench.” He moves back, thrusts his hips against her again, deeper than before, until he’s buried inside her. “But good for me that I caught up on it. At least you’re _my_ wench only, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she blurts out, and Jaime shouldn’t think that it’s kind of adorable that she’s still blushing, but she obviously doesn’t care much for property right now.

Good.

“Then be courteous and let me hear you. Why shouldn’t I want to know how much you like it when I fuck you?”

When she clenches around him again and she moans deep against his ear, he loses what coherency he had left and he shakes as he comes inside her, and he should feel embarrassed when his right arm gives out and he falls down on top of her the moment he can’t coordinate his motions anymore.

The bliss overcoming him makes it so that he doesn’t even think about being embarrassed for one second.

When he comes to, she’s looking at him with a mixture of outrage and intrigue, and won’t it be fun to explain what the hell he was doing, since he doesn’t even know why he even did it.

Fuck, should he apologize?

Before he can try to come up with an answer, she speaks first. “Do you really like it?”

“Do I really like what?”

“Hearing me,” she answers. She sounds half-embarrassed. “Isn’t it – not proper?”

“Did your septa tell you that? I’d have liked to hear _her_.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” Brienne starts, but a moment later she shakes her head as if she knows already that she can’t win this one, and Jaime thinks that from now on he might just let his tongue do as it wants.

2.

“So fucking wet,” he rasps while his left hand’s thumb traces circles around her clit. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Look at your cunt. You can’t wait for me to fuck you, can you?”

From the way she’s moaning beneath him, he can’t be too wrong.

“Seven hells, even your thighs are getting wet.” He runs his thumb along her inner thigh – no harm in pushing things a bit. “I should make you taste it one of these times,” he says casually, almost joking, but he doesn’t miss the way the blue in her eyes becomes darker at that.

He isn’t expecting what comes out of her mouth after.

“And why don’t _you_ taste it, instead?”

The situation might be almost comical to anyone else – she’s not breaking eye contact with him, but the red in her cheeks isn’t all because it’s hot inside the room. For a second she looks as if she doesn’t even understand how she could have said it out loud, but it’s not the point. The point is that there’s a certain heat pooling down in between Jaime’s legs, mostly because her tone was absolutely serious. They did it before, but he has never spent much time on it. And he liked the straightforward tone she used. It does things to his knees that he has no name for.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, trying to keep the tone serious, as well.

“I’m – if you’re –” she starts, but Jaime isn’t hearing any of it.

“Again. Is that what you want? Don’t think for a second that I might be offended,” he adds before bringing his fingers back over the inner part of her thigh again.

“What if it was?”

Jaime grins at that before moving back and sliding down from the bed. “And why should I deny my lady – apologies, _my wench_ , anything?”

Her legs part the moment his knees hit the ground. He runs his hands over her legs and thighs, feeling taut muscle under his fingertips, and when he puts his tongue on her she screams in pleasure, and his own cock hardens a tiny bit just hearing it. He smiles before running his tongue over hot, wet flesh again and again (and he thinks he will kiss her later before he wipes his mouth clean – he did say that he’d make her taste it). He groans when her hands reach down and tangle in his hair, and the moment she pushes his head down he reaches down with his left hand and palms himself through his breeches. The more he goes on, the more she moans his name and yes and _there_ and _more_ ; when she peaks, he doesn’t even think about moving away his head, not that the hold she has on him would have made it easy.

When he moves his head away, her hands still tangled in his hair, he licks his lips. They’re sticky, and they taste bitter (but not unpleasantly), and when Brienne moves to a sitting position he looks up at her. Her whole cheek is flushed, deep pink, freckles standing against it, but it’s not because of embarrassment – or at least it’s not entirely that. Her lips (even more swollen from kissing) are slightly parted, a hint of teeth visible, and when one of her trembling fingers touches his sticky bottom lip he doesn’t really think before touching it with his tongue.

She does taste herself on his lips later, while he’s thrusting deep inside her (and it’s a relief – he has been hard for what seems like ages); and obviously, she’s the first to speak (again) when they’re both lying down on the bed, after.

“Is – is everything all right?” she asks, sounding half-embarrassed all over again.

“Do I look miserable to you?”

“That you don’t. But at one point – I wasn’t really thinking. I haven’t gone too far, have I?”

And she still blushes as if she still was a maiden, but Jaime won’t be the one to complain about it. Gods help him, he thinks he’d be happy if she never stopped doing that.

He also supposes she means the part where she almost literally cut the air from his lungs.

“I wish all my sufferings had been of that kind.” He cuts it at that point. He doesn’t tell her that he had liked it as much as she likes hearing him talk in detail about how wet she can get for him.

She probably suspects it on her own.

3.

“Not yet.” She moves his hand out of the way before he can even attempt to touch himself.

Well, it was worth a try. “As my lady commands,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even try to make it sound completely serious. Brienne just looks down at him, still half-clothed while he’s naked. She’s smiling a small, slightly wicked smile, and Jaime wishes he had realized sooner that she had it in her.

And gods help him, he can’t help enjoying this whole game not just because it’s _good_ , but because Brienne is nothing like Cersei in this as well and figuring her out all over again makes it even better. Sometimes he hates that he just can’t read her like an open book, the same way he could read his sister with a mere look, but other times it just makes the entire thing more thrilling.

Like now.

She kneels up above him, her knees around his hips; she unlaces her breeches and pushes them down enough to reveal her smallclothes, but nothing more.

“Only your hand,” she whispers, and he never knows how she can manage to sound almost polite while using a tone that doesn’t admit a negative answer. “And I want you to talk.”

“Do I get a reward if my lady is satisfied?”

“Not if you keep on calling me like that.”

He knows that she doesn’t mind it so much anymore, also because she’s technically his lady now, regardless of whatever she thinks, but as a shiver runs through his spine and he brings his hand up he figures that it doesn’t really matter.

He presses his thumb over the cloth covering her clit. It’s damp.

“But it does get you wet, doesn’t it?” he says as sweetly as he can manage before slipping his thumb under the fabric, followed by his finger. When he rubs them against the soft, warm flesh she sighs in pleasure, and there’s a certain thrill in knowing that he’s the only one who gets to see her like this.

Too bad for Ronnet Connington, even if Jaime doesn’t think that he’d have realized what he was missing even if he had married Brienne after all.

“Or maybe _I_ do,” Jaime croons again, changing angle and teasing her opening with the tip of his index finger. “So hot for me. So _tight_ for me,” he keeps on, pushing the tip of his finger inside her while keeping on rubbing her clit with his thumb. “Fine, not as tight as you used to, but not bad at all.”

She clenches around his finger again, another soft moan leaving her mouth. But her eyes are so very clear, and she’s obviously very much in control of her own reactions; Jaime’s cock twitches again, and he tries not to think about it. “I’d very much like to see for myself.” He pushes the tip of another finger in, shivering when Brienne slowly lowers herself onto them. He sort of hopes that it happens this time – he hasn’t been inside her for three damned weeks by now, and she _knows_ it – but if it doesn’t… well, it’s not as if she’s cruel enough to let him go wanting for too long.

“We shall see,” she replies. “For now think about what you should be doing. I’m sure that you want that reward, don’t you? Far from me not to pay my debts.”

Well, he thinks as he puts his mind back to his current task, at least after all the time they’ve known each other, she has learned something about teasing.

“Fine. I suppose you want everyone around to hear you, don’t you? You want them all to know how loud can you get with just my fingers up inside you? Then again, what do they know? I might be fucking you senseless, as far as they can hear.”

 _Surely they wouldn’t think that you’re the one fucking me senseless_ , he doesn’t say when she pushes herself down further. He has those two fingers fully inside her now, and she’s almost unbelievably tight as she clenches around them. He bends them, slightly, enough to make her literally scream.

“Such a wench,” he keeps on saying, his voice shaking just slightly now, the urge to touch himself almost fading away as she sees her trying to hold herself together as she moans his name and _yes_. She’s looking down at him again, her pupils slightly blown but her eyes still focused. Her knees are trapping his hips now, and for a moment he thinks that he’d like to do this with her holding him down, but then he focuses on finishing this.

He does want that reward, after all.

He bends his fingers again, hitting a place that he knows will bring her over the edge, and when she screams his name as she clenches even tighter and finally reaches her pleasure, he almost follows suit – it’s the way she screams his name without even thinking about being quiet and the way her shoulders tremble even if she manages not to move that much at all.

That doesn’t happen though – he stays hard and desperately wishing for at least some friction, but he doesn’t move an inch while she regains her breath. It’s not as if he can move freely anyway – her knees are still locked around his hips and she has proved enough times that she can hold him down easily if she wants. But he doesn’t even want to move – right now he’s just very curious about what she’s planning, but he isn’t hurrying. Not when they have all the time they wish for, anyway.

When she opens her eyes again, there’s something almost coy in the way she looks at him. If he ever thought she couldn’t look coy if she tried, he’s taking it back.

“Was that satisfying?”

“Enough that I won’t keep you waiting. And I want your hand on my hip. No other touching.”

 _Damn_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t even think about doing something else with it. He moves it up, sticky as it is, and puts it under her shirt, cupping her hip, because she never said not to. She doesn’t tell him to move it, though.

And then she looks down at his almost forgotten right arm. For a moment he narrows his eyes, and then she reaches down for his wrist and brings it up. He wants to ask what is she thinking about – she knows it’s pretty much useless, not to mention that he doesn’t like to think about it too much when he can avoid it.

Then she brings the stump up to her lips and kisses it.

His lips go dry at once, and then she kisses it again before running her tongue over the point that she had kissed.

And damn, that thing still hurts sometimes, and he cursed its sensitivity enough times, but maybe he should change his mind. It feels strange – a bit like having other scars kissed had felt, but it’s not really the same. It’s that – gods, she looks like someone who’s enjoying doing this, pressing her mouth all over it, running her tongue on the sides, maybe grasping some skin with her teeth lightly. His hips thrust up, searching for friction; he feels hot all over, and he isn’t sure he can think clearly. But the fact that she’s doing this _there_ in the same way she’d act if it was any other part of his body is getting to him, and fast. He screams in relief when she leans back slightly and wraps her fingers around his achingly hard cock. Then he almost screams in frustration when she only gives it a couple slow strokes; she doesn’t seem too keen on finishing this too soon.

Most probably she’s thinking about driving him crazy instead, which he wouldn’t even be surprised about. Most surely, she isn’t going to let him fuck her tonight either, but it’s not as if he even cares by this point.

As long as the teasing stops.

“Brienne –” he rasps, his voice so hoarse that he can barely recognize it. “Brienne, please, I need – I _need_ –”

She stops both her ministrations at once. “You can choose,” she replies. “My hand or my mouth.”

He thinks about it for a second – her mouth sounds like a better option, but then again if she puts it on his cock then she can’t keep on doing what she’s doing. And while admitting it to himself isn’t exactly easy, if she doesn’t want to do it again, then he should enjoy it while it lasts.

“Hand,” he picks, almost breathless.

Her fingers move faster then, swift in the same way they are when they handle a weapon, and he moans out loud as she strokes him quickly and surely while her lips still press kisses all over his wrist and the stump, all over again.

It’s ridiculous, and probably embarrassing, that he comes when she turns her scarred cheek and runs it over the scar tissue placed where his right hand should have been.

But the sight of it and the feeling of it are too much and he’s already taut as a string ready to snap, and the moment it happens he moans out her name and comes against her hand as his fingers grip her hip so hard that she’ll probably bruise. He’s tempted to arch off the bed, to move, to twist, but her knees are still around his sides, and she’s keeping him mostly still. And then his blood is singing in the same way it did when he crossed his sword with hers for the first time, there are spots of color beneath his eyelids and when he closes his eyes and just lets go against her hand, there’s such bliss in his release that he feels almost as if he’s floating into thin air.

When he comes to, she’s lying next to him; she got rid of the breeches, but she’s still wearing the shirt. One of his own – it’s just a bit tight at her chest, but it fits her nonetheless. And she has a hand on his neck, warm and almost grounding.

“I hope that our debts are settled now,” she says. And it’s obvious that she meant something else.

“I wish all the payments I had to receive were like this,” he answers. Hopefully she’ll understand that what it really means is that he hopes she does it again at some point.

“Good. Well, you had said you were hoping for something else –”

“Wench, you know it’s your call. I think I can live with not outright fucking you every damned time.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up again as she moves closer, her hand still there on his neck. “Most men would expect that. Then again, you aren’t most men.”

“Well, most certainly you aren’t most women. But you haven’t seen me complaining about that either, have you?”

She sighs, as if she won’t even dignify him with an answer, but he knows she understood what he meant.

And then she reaches up with her other hand, her index finger still wet and sticky; when she places it at the corner of his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate before parting his lips and letting her push it inside. And while he tastes bitterness on his tongue as he runs it over her rough fingertip, he starts thinking about how he’s going to talk her into holding him down against the bed next time.


End file.
